December 2021

deceptive,
this amidst—always
searching for
hereafter–
breath catches, consumed, clinging
to vanishing light

silence waits,
determinedly grey,
unfinished–
holding on
to the bare crowns of branches–
expectant, fallow

wind rattles
inside—brumal, edged
with frozen
promises–
hope hangs tenuous, threaded–
taut, still, wintering

A seasonal dVerse quadrille for my December grid. De provided the word crown as inspiration.

October 2021

fallen leaves
the crunch of footsteps
clear blue sky

reflecting the rain
changeable skywind spatters
colors patterned light

full moon of autumn appears
leaves too soon amidst hopes of endless harvest
fragments linger, gold glittering

stars remember every invisible map
imprinted on the approaching dark
paradigm

earth saturated with bonfires and bones

Two haiku and a sevenling for October and Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday theme, suggested by Franci Hoffman, the harvest moon. The photos are of September’s full moon traveling across the southern sky outside my window. In the first one, it’s half reflected on the window pane.

The artwork is the first page, front and back, of a handmade paper journal I bought on Etsy. I bought three, one each for myself and my sisters-in-law, as we all have great intentions to do art journals–and hopefully this will get us going. I painted the page, and stitched over the front with a technique I’ve been wanting to try. Since the color bled through the paper, I did a small autumn grid on the back.

Happy October!

containment

For what shines after all
through the dust in the air?
an opening, a clue, a wall—

what do we see or recall
through the threads made bare?
for what shines after all,

glittering amidst free and fall?
an answer within now and here?
or an opening, silent—a wall,

a shadow, the wind, a spell?
the hand that holds all we can bear?
for what shines after all–
an opening, a touch—or a wall?

For the NaPoWriMo prompt, a villanelle with homonyms.  Also linking to the dVerse (slant rhyme) villanelles for April.

 

Take These Broken Wings

Curse not the king, no, not even in thy thoughts, and curse not the rich in thy bedchamber; for a bird of the air shall carry thy voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter.
–Ecclesiastes 10:20

Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
–Wallace Stevens, “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird”

That which hath wings shall tell
(blackbird whirling in the autumn winds)
The birth of the sky, the void in the flow

Three minds like a tree in parallel
(rising in blueness, the mystery twinned)
That which hath wings shall tell

Blackbirds are involved in what I know
(how to release and how to begin)
The birth of the sky, the void in the flow

A man and a woman are one distilled
(diving divining reflected and twinned)
That which hath wings shall tell

The river is moving in flying shadow
(the question unseen that I can’t comprehend)
The birth of the sky, the void in the flow

Imagine these golden birds aglow
(the crow and the tree and the origin’s end)
That which hath wings shall tell
The birth of the sky, the void in the flow

For the NaPoWriMo prompt, a villanelle with lines taken from an outside text.  I’ve used both of these poetic sources before; you can see examples here and here.  To the words of Stevens and the Bible, I added text from one of my many crow poems, and art selected from my many pieces inspired by crows.

And since dVerse is conveniently featuring the villanelle form this month, I’ve linked to the collection of villanelle poems.

Following the Thread up at Pure Haiku

My haiku “Following the Thread” is posted at Pure Haiku today as part of the Emergence series.  My thanks, as always, to Freya Pickard for supporting my work.

Near

The end is
calling—ice spiders
weaving nets
blanketing
the unrelenting blueness
with crystal cold

Stripped down
to sheer form, chanting
syllables
bleak, bitter–
ancient songs of Boreas–
untranslatable

Gods become
disassembled bits
and pieces,
illusive
fabrications floating on
seas of sinking air

like final
notes of silence pitched
into the
void, cutting
holes with each unspoken word,
unthreading needles

Failing to
transform, to be borne
or reborn–
the years spin,
contracting—the lines
fall, disconnected

A poetic response to the January prompt at Myths of the Mirror, above.  Somehow working in blues always leads me to stitching…in this case I painted two circles and cut the smaller one up and stitched it on top of the larger one.

Also linking to dVerse Open Link Night.

 

Resolving the Equations

Multiply the circumstances–
What rises to the occasion?
What remains, over and over,
expecting to return again?

Look between—what is divided?
Multiply the circumstances.
What is buried?  Which measurements
contain dust and ashes, which bones?

Around the patterned interval
tricks appear as what they are not.
Multiply the circumstances–
ghostlines projected in the air.

Symbols transforming the unseen–
abridged, compounded, mythical–
saved by neither fortune nor fate–
(multiply the circumstances)

A quatern for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  This is another repeating form–the same idea, but with its own distinct rhythm.

 

 

Exposed

Go you darkened, alive,
in silence growing—
go you as wildness
mingling with earth and trees,

holding the sky open
to the wind, seedlings flying,
rooted in air.

Dance you as water falling,
as a jewel crowning–
dance you as the shadow
released to the circle of light,

undressing the stars down
to the bones, falling like moonlight
covered in crystalline wings.

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.

I’ve been reading Pablo Neruda…

 

 

 

Noises

Were I Other. Were I spoken in a different voice.  Were I fallen into impossibility.

I would be like stars.
I would echo the feeling
that follows the wind.

Were I made of light. Were I pulsing like oceans.  Were I to open as wide as never and nothing.

I would radiate
rainbows. I would paint moments
with sound. Fill absence.

For Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, with synonyms for love and time.  I’m not entirely sure this qualifies as a haibun.  In the spirit of, anyway.

The embroidered watercolor is a work in progress.  I plan to keep embroidering it until I stop.

Ciphering

I’m mapping the wind–
an idea to carry,
gravity released.

No more searching for lost words—
at the vertex, spiraling.

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above, and Colleen’s poetry challenge with synonyms for inspiration and plan.

I’m still circling around.